


When I Reflect on What We Had

by LittleDuck15



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Young Avengers
Genre: 21st century Bucky, AU, Alternate Universe - 21st century Bucky, Angst, Captain America Steve, Childhood, Cute, Fluff, Friendship, I promise there wasn't meant to be this much sadness, Im a nerd, Ive accepted it, Look at all my babies, M/M, Mirrors, My wonderful OTPs, Oh look the young avengers, Orphan Bucky, Poor Bucky, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Too late now, he's had really bad luck with foster parents, magic mirrors aren't real, oh well, when is there never angst?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-03-07 00:11:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3153494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleDuck15/pseuds/LittleDuck15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU in which 21st century little Bucky is able to see back into the 20's through his bathroom mirror and develops a deep friendship with the scrawny child that peers right back at him. The events of the 40s still happen, Steve is still Captain America, only when he wakes up in the 21st century and realises what it means that loneliness he's been feeling since leaving the young man in the mirror a lifetime ago suddenly disappears.</p><p>In which there is lots of arguing with bathroom mirrors and to be honest its starting to make Sarah Rogers and Mrs Daniels more than a bit worried but who are they to question something that clearly makes their boys quite happy? Steve Rogers is a sassy little shit, the Avengers think he's lost his mind, Bucky's been counting down the days until his friend dies and everyone wishes they would just get together already.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ghost Mirrors

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WhoKnowsWhatIMeant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoKnowsWhatIMeant/gifts).



> Just a few warnings:very very brief mention of using children to traffic drugs, death and some swearing.  
> I'm really feeling this story, it's the first one that had genuinely felt good in...a depressing amount of time so i truly hope i can do it justice!
> 
> Comments are adored, appreciated and rewarded with snippets of coming chapters ;-) i'm not above using blackmail :-D  
> i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i did writing it!
> 
> for my lovely WhoKnows because it's your damn fault i'm so obsessed with this fandom! thank you for the title pun, adding in lots of commas ;-D and the barrage of stucky fan art to keep me inspired!

The first time it happened,  it was just after Bucky moved in with his latest fosters and was given his very own room for the first time since his Mom died. When he squinted into the mirror with water dripping down his face, having just stuck it under the faucet to calm himself down, he could have sworn he caught a flash of blond hair just below his height. However, there are things about a young Bucky one must be made aware of before we can go any further, and so we must return to those very first moments in the Daniels' household.

Guided by a gentle hand on his shoulder as they made their way up the stairs, Bucky had to suppress the hopeful flare whispering enticingly in his ear that this would be the last one. They would love him and he would stay. He would be good, be the best son in the world if only they would keep him. Bucky's unfortunate luck with foster parents since his mother's untimely death was by no means his fault, not that he saw it that way having gone through five whole homes - group and otherwise - in the short year since. There were the Hendersons, who, having struggled to get pregnant for the better part of eight years, decided a dramatic move to eastern Europe was what they needed to rejuvinate their marriage. Next came Mrs Shorter, an older woman with plenty of love to give but a heart unable to hold it. 

Following this, and having been the one to find poor Mrs S gone to a better life in her battered floral chair that sunny afternoon, Bucky entered his first group home. Being younger than quite a few of the boys he shared with, it will come as no surprise that he became the subject of the anger which had been brewing in the older boys at their own lack of a stable home.These particular boys were curious things that could be counted upon in their embittered jealousy to ensure that the hopeful innocent were quite quickly brought into their terrible reality of rejection, pain and loneliness. In the three months Bucky spent in Maxwell Drydon Home for Boys he quickly adapted to the rougher treatment of older boys and harsh taunts often sent his way. 

Most of his tourment circled around the two homes he'd already been moved from. Being placed in three homes in under six months spelled disaster for the future if the boys were to believed in their hissed whispers as they shoved him into the cupboards. At first, Bucky turned his nose up at their biting words but soon as the days slid by without a hint that he would be removed anytime soon...well, that certainty began to falter. It seemed daily reminders were constantly thrust under his nose that he was unwanted, too old to ever be adopted when everyone wanted a cherubic-faced baby yet to be soiled by the world and it was this thought that sunk its teeth into seven year old Bucky Barnes. His mother was dead. The only one in the world who had to love him had died and left him alone. He'd lost his only chance at family the moment she decided to pop down to the grocery store for milk only to be mugged and killed. 

Tragically, the loss of young Bucky's hope, too, was a mistake. Having thought Bucky's case was easy to handle the powers-that-be in the Department of Social Services left him in the care of an eager, if not a little naive, social-worker. Said social-worker believed Bucky spent those months in Maxine Drydell's Home for Children, a very pleasant smaller group home that sought to ensure each child recieved personal attention to deal with issues such as finding dead foster parents 'asleep' in their chairs. Alas this error was not picked up until much later and as such, nothing could be done about it.

In the wake of his harrowing stay with the Boys Home Bucky resolutely decided from hence forth to become the perfect child, the likes of which his next fosters would never see coming. Well, he was right in that regard. The well-mannered, soft-spoken, endearing young boy that the Williams family found themselves with was the last thing they expected, but was much appreciated. Until they were busted for using said sweet little boy to traffic drugs in and out of the state in his backpack. Upon arrest all the deceptively ordinary-looking Mr and Mrs Williams had to say about the situation was that Bucky was perfect for it - no one would suspect the shy adorable child to be harbouring three kilo's of crack in his Ben10 backpack on a family trip to New York.

And now, faced with his fifth home if one didn't include his birth mother, Bucky was unable to process the mixture of anxious fear at failing these yet-to-have-faltered fosters that roiled in his stomach. 

Mr Daniels, to his credit, could all but see the waves of worry radiating off the boy at his side and decided to give him a few moments alone in his new space after briefly pointing out the little bathroom. He did this despite his wife's nervous hovering just behind them, rocking on her toes like at any moment if either of them requested she bake a pie made of solid gold apples she would rush down and get started. Alas no such requests came forth and so she allowed herself to be ushered out the doorway with a soft touch from Mr Daniels, pulling the black door closed behind them. 

In one of her strokes of genius Mrs Daniels came to the decision that it would be absolutely fantastic and life-changing if their little charge had a door painted in chalk-board paint with a variety of bright boxes filled with every shade of chalk known to man in his desk. As of yet Bucky had yet to notice this feature despite the cheerful 'Welcome to James' room!' Scribbled in loopy handwriting across the front of the door and the Daniels' were still unaware of his preference for 'Bucky' instead of 'James'. Both of these oversights would soon be remedied however and the happy glint that Bucky garnered from Mrs Daniels upon thanking her for the message - it was quite obviously a woman's writing after all - washed away a little of the tension that had settled across his shoulders since exiting the car upon arrival.

It was shortly after this little interaction that Bucky came face to face with a blond spitfire with defiant blue eyes from his bathroom mirror. 

Having spent the evening cocooned in the warmth and easiness of the Daniels household Bucky barely even realised when he'd dropped his guard slightly - just enough for him to forget to do the dishes after dinner despite having been told he was free to watch TV with Mr Daniels. This seemingly insignificant event had panic ripping through Bucky's whole body, a litany of 'they're going to send me back now oh no what have i done' tumbling through his mind despite the gentle banter happening between the fosters in the livingroom. Barely remembering to excuse himself - he truly never would have forgiven himself if he'd forgotten that, too - Bucky dashed up the stairs and into the safety of his room to work through this terrible misstep and the counteraction that needed to be taken because of it. Having spent a whole minute staring at the unmarked door-come-chalkboard he decided he still was not safe to fully absorb his actions, not when Mrs Daniels could just walk in at any moment. And so, Bucky retreated further into his bathroom and proceeded to stick his face under the tap to cool his overheated cheeks. 

The afformentioned flash of blond he managed to convince himself was simply a trick of the light due to his water-bleary vision. However, the frighteningly clear bloodshot eyes were a whole other story. Before he knew it Bucky was scrambling back from the mirror, effectively tripping over the fluffy dark blue mat on the floor and going down hard with a yelp. This yelp was what alerted his unwanted blond guest to the peculiar bathroom he could just make out beyond his own tear-stained reflection. Any further investigation into the mysterious eyes in their respective mirrors was brought to a halt, however, when Bucky who prided himself in his seven year old's tried and tested common sense decided to get the heck away from creepy ghost people hanging around in mirrors and bolted from the bathroom not a second later.

Bucky made it his mission over the next week and a half to ensure his bathroom door stayed firmly shut just in case any poltergeists wanted to start up any funny business. It was hardly a problem with the full bathroom just down the hall for him to use as he wished but the Daniels did find it rather odd just how emphatic Bucky was about not using his en suite.   
It came to a head when Mrs Daniels flitted through the house searching for any washing and, having found only two shirts and a pair of shorts of Bucky's in the entirety of his stay so far, was certain he was hoarding them in that bathroom.

Her little plan to pop in and out unnoticed while Bucky was downstairs watching a documentary on whales went slightly awry when he got bored and decided he wanted to draw on the chalk door. Had anyone been there to witness the eyes in the mirror themselves perhaps Bucky's reaction wouldn't have been seen as so extreme but when he cried out, dove at Mrs Daniels and knocked her into the pile of washing she had at her feet just as she was coming out of the bathroom, he knew there would be consequences.

Certain that his time with the Daniels' was over, Bucky had spent the afternoon packing up few belongings and sitting on his bed, glaring murderously at the cracked open door of the bathroom. Once or twice he caught a swirl of pale skin or blond hair which only fueled his loathing for the mirror. As soon as the front door clicked open followed by a cheery greeting from Mr Daniels, Bucky's heart sank. This was it. Home number five gone all because of a stupid mirror with stupid blue eyes and stupid washing. He could imagine the fosters talking downstairs about what to do with him, most probably concluding it would be best if he was returned to the Boys Home. 

A spike of fear burst through his body when Mr Daniels knocked once then poked his head into the room.

Taking in the little boy perched on the end of the bed, eyes wide with worry and a spark of anger made Mr Daniels chuckle softly. He offered a small smile in apology then sat beside his young charge.

Neither said anything for a long moment, until Bucky gathered the courage to ask, "Are you going to send me back?"

In the years to come Mr Daniels would think back on this simple question and the vulnerability that coated it whenever he found himself wondering just what he and the Mrs were thinking when they thought they could raise a child. The answer was simple: to make sure questions like that were never said with such sincerity ever again, as if they were defective toys to be sent back to the factory.

With heartbreak for all Bucky had lost, Mr Daniels simply pulled him into his side for a half hug. "No, son. We're not going to send you back. I promise." In an effort to rid his throat of the suspiciously tight feeling Mr Daniels coughed once then raised an eyebrow down at Bucky's disbelieving expression. "Do you want to tell me what happened today?" 

That wiped away the surprise and replaced it with embarassment and frustration that pulled down Bucky's brows and resulted in a pout. He cast his head down, slightly long brown hair flopping over his forehead as he kicked his feet against the bed and mumbled something under his breath.

Amused by the sulky display Mr Daneils smothered another smile and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees and clasp his hands together. "What was that, James?"

Dejected but secure in the fact that he wouldn't be returned just yet, Bucky sighed loudly, sat up straight and said once more, looking Mr Daniels directly in the eyes. "There's something in the mirror and Mrs Daniels went inside and i didn't want her to get hurt."

Well. That wasn't precisely the answer expected but taking in the utter seriousness with which this statement was proclaimed gave Mr Daniels pause. "The bathroom mirror?" He clarified.

Bucky gave a grim nod. 

Mr Daniels took a moment to think over how he would approach this, "What did you see in it?"

Having lost a bit of his confidence while the image of the blue eyes was running amock in his head, Bucky whispered, "Scary blue ghost eyes."

Aware that asking if Bucky had only seen his own blue eyes reflected and gotten a bit frightened was a big mistake,Mr Daniels gave an understanding "Ah.Well, it's not very nice of this ghost to be hanging around in your mirror is it?"Bucky gave a jerky shake of his head in agreement. 

"Maybe you should tell him that." The gentle suggestion had Bucky's breath hitcing with worry over having to go into the bathroom again. " After all, I'm sure he just needs to know that you won't put up with his scary tactics any longer and he'll go away. It can't be fun stealing peoples mirrors to frighten them if they aren't scared now can it?"

It took Bucky a long while to accept Mr Daniels' logic but once he did he gave a soft sigh and said firmly, " Okay."

Mr Daniels ruffled Bucky's brow mop fondly, "Do you want me to stay here while you do it? I'll come right in if he tries anything."

Growing more empowered by Mr Daniels' theory Bucky declined the offer, sure he could stand up to the ghost mirror on his own. With his work done Mr Daniels patted Bucky on the shoulder, wished him good luck and left the boy to his own devices.

It only took a further five minutes for Bucky to order himself to go through with it and so, with his chest puffed up and eyes narrowed in what he hoped was an intimidating way, he marched into the bathroom, pointed a finger at the mirror and opened his mouth to give it a piece of his mind. Only, there was a slight issue with this plan and it was that Bucky was faced with no eyes but his own. After a further fifteen minutes of scouring the mirror for any sign of the eyes, Bucky gave a dejected sigh and deflated. Well then.

Casting a glance at the door which had bounced back and closed behind him thanks to the force with which he opened it, he decided no one was leaving this bathroom until that ghost was gone. In reality he was worried that if he left he wouldn't be able to pluck up the courage to come back in. Prepared to be there for the long haul, bucky tucked himself against the door, brought his knees up to his chest and prepared to glare at that mirror until ghost eyes appeared.


	2. Confrontations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Steve argue for the first time and Steve has a hard time coping with the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's officially been forever since i posted for this *hides face in shame*. I apologise profusely for that! Hopefully i'll update more often since i have a direction for this story now. Yay! I would love to hear what you think! Enjoy!

Half an hour later, Bucky had a problem. His issue was one often experienced by children, especially young boys, and that was boredom. Really, there was only so long one could spend glaring angrily at a mirror before your eyes started to ache and the desire to pull funny faces just for something to do became quite strong. He prided himself in not stooping to that level just yet but had educated himself in how many tiles were in his bathroom. Twice. Now he lay splayed out on the cool floor, glancing at the mirror every two seconds in hope of ghost eyes just so that he could leave to go ride his bike. Every so often a frustrated huff or bored groan would slip past his lips, growing louder with each occurrence. 

Finally, after he was sure he was going to die of old age there on the floor, he caught a flicker of movement just above the tap. Hoping his relief and excitement weren't too obvious, Bucky shot up from his spot to confront the mirror ghost.Only... Bucky couldn't help the confused frown that pulled down his features when he took in the ghost for the second time. 

Instead of bloodshot eyes hovering in the middle of nowhere there was now a child about three inches shorted than him with messy blond hair sticking to his angular face. Beyond his extremely pale skin there was nothing ethereal about him and really, that was very inconsiderate. How could Bucky face his fear if there was a scrawny kid who looked like he was about to keel over in place of the creepy ghost eyes.

Given how long he had spent in that bathroom, prepping himself for the confrontation with said ghost eyes, we can excuse little Bucky for his oversight on the matter that there shouldn't have been any other image but his own when he looked into that mirror, never mind being picky about what mysterious alternative reflection stared back.

Before Bucky could open his mouth to protest this unforeseen development, the previously ghost eyes lit up with surprise which was quickly followed with anger. "Why are you in my mirror?" The boy demanded, defying how sickly he looked with the sheer force of his words.

Bucky took a step back, thoroughly confused how. " Your mirror? It's my mirror!"

\---

On the other side of the mirror, Steve Rogers stood on the small stepping stool that he grudgingly still used to reach the sink with fury in his chest and more than a little sadness. He'd spent the day shivering in bed, deprived of all covers in an attempt to get his temperature down. Not only was he shivering so hard his entire body trembled for most of the lovely morning, but he'd been able to peek out his window and watch the neighbourhood kids run around gleefully, laughing and cheering and not wheezing after barely a minute of play. It was not a good day. 

Occasionally he would muster up the willpower to stop moping and be happy that he was alive at all, surrounded by his precious sketches and the half-used stack of papers his mom had brought home from the hospital for him to draw on. On those rare days he could convince himself that he wasn't a burden to his mother, that maybe one day he wouldn't be so sick anymore and could become an artist or, heck, maybe even a soldier if he worked hard for it. 

However, as his thoughts hadn't exactly followed that track, compounded by his mother's need to work an extra shift at the hospital that evening, a hollowness had built up inside his chest that was ready to lash out at the first person who had the unfortunate luck of coming near him whether that was astrange mirror interloper or otherwise. Steve wasn't too picky when he was feeling particularly sorry for himself.

"It's in my bathroom, so it's my mirror." Steve snapped as snottily as he could, sticking up his chin defiantly and crossing bony arms across his thin torso. 

Bucky was not impressed. However, before he got the chance to throw a snappy comeback at the tiny mirror thief, Mrs Daniels called up for dinner. Indecision flared in Bucky's eyes as he warred over doing as he was told and going down to dinner or staying to finish his mission. In the end, after an enthusiastic reminder that she'd made his favourite echoing up the stairs, he simply pointed a finger accusingly at not-his-reflection. "I'm not afraid of you so leave me alone." and with that, just in case the skinny boy did turn out to be a creepy ghost with special powers, Bucky scampered out of the bathroom.

A muffled, "Jerk!" trailed behind him but when he peeked over his shoulder, all he saw was the reflection of his own bathroom.

At dinner Mr Daniels enquired how it had gone and Bucky happily announced that his mission was accomplished and there would be no more ghost eyes. Well, he hoped anyway.

*** 

He is lonely. Yes, perhaps Steve had spent the better part of the war lonely, but this time it’s different. Back then it was unavoidable. He could look at his reflection every day, mirror devoid of Bucky's face, and tell himself that it was for the best. That Bucky didn't understand. The war, and Steve's burning desire to be a part of it, was something he never had been able to explain to his best friend and there was certainly no way he would put his dreams on the back-burner just because Bucky was paranoid. Now though, after everything that happened - the Red Skull, Peggy's death, the crash, waking up again only to find his entire world had gone on without him...There is an ache in his chest the likes of which he’s never experienced before. With a medical record longer than his arm, that’s truly saying something. 

Looking back on it now, he can see that Bucky knew. His friend knew what would happen, the sacrifices that Steve would make, the heartbreak that would result from his being Captain America. Hell, he’d done his level best to persuade Steve for years not to go anywhere near the army even before there was a war for Steve to think about. If Steve wasn’t so damn hard headed maybe it would’ve worked. Now, he’s left with the shattered remains of his life, devoid of everything he’d ever known, ever cared about, trying not to drown in guilt and loss. If only he’d listened. 

Natasha is the first to pick up on his self-imposed solitude, tries her best to break him out of it. It doesn’t work, but he appreciates the effort. The playful banter she keeps up gives him a way of venting his frustration, even if it’s only in the form of sarcastic little remarks about his age or the people he left behind. He could do without her attempts to set him up with every cute girl she’s ever laid eyes on, though. Then again, whenever she suggests her latest candidate, her eyes soften and her tone turns even more playful like she knows he’ll never say yes but needs him to know someone cares. One thing he’s sure of is she’ll never understand how grateful he is for those moments. 

Sam, of course, is the second. Steve can say that with certainty because as much time as he spends with the other Avengers, they have their own troubles to deal with so it’s not too hard to fly under the radar as long as he’s careful around them. They’ve all been through hell so they understand that if someone wants to talk, they’ll talk. Until then, the thousand-yard stares are chalked up to boredom, shaking hands on too much coffee, dark circles under their eyes to partying too hard in their free time.So, naturally, it’s an outsider who decides enough is enough and voices his concern for his friend. 

Steve’s having a bad day and like he usually does when he can’t wrap his mind around his grief and hopelessness, he pulls on a hoodie, dons a hat and sets out. The Smithsonian Captain America exhibit is so familiar at this point he’s pretty sure he can walk it blindfolded. He easily darts between awe-struck visitors admiring the drivel covering the walls, not a single one noticing that the icon they were here to worship stood amongst them. There’s really no better way to stew in his own life choices than to surround himself with the dramatised, patriotic version of Captain America the public eats up. A spot clears up on a bench in a spot not as heavily trafficked and Steve makes a dive for it. Once comfortably situated, he sets up for a good four hours of watching.

It catches him completely off guard when a man steps directly in front of him and kicks at his boot. His eyes shoot up to find a familiar concerned expression coming from his friend. “What are you doing, Steve.”

With an unhappy scowl towards a group of teenagers giggling over a shirtless image of him post-serum, Steve stands. “Could ask you the same, Sam.”

“You’re really not as good at hiding in plain sight as you think. Brought my nephew and saw you darting in here looking all broody.” Sam gestures towards a tiny child doing his level best to puff himself up next to a pre-serum picture in hopes of coming up to Steve’s original height.

“What’s he doing all the way over there? Shouldn’t he be trying to be that guy?” Steve grumbles and jerks his thumb over towards the post-serum image.

Sam gives him a hard look, “I’ve made damn sure he knows they’re the same person." 

He has to look away from the boy at that, a shamed flush crawling up his cheeks for a moment. “I used to think all my problems would be solved if only I could become this.” He gestures down at his body, a sardonic smile tilting his lips upward, “I was an idiot. I’d give it up in a second if it meant I could have Bu- have them back.” his fingers clench at his sides when he realises he almost slipped. The last thing he needs is to announce to the world he befriended a boy in a mirror his entire childhood. He doesn’t need them adding ‘delusional’ to the list of ailments they proudly announce the serum corrected.

Sam shakes his head. “You’ve lost everything, Steve. I’m not gonna pretend to know what that’s like or what you should do with your life but I’m gonna give you some advice, from a friend. This path you’re going down? It doesn’t end anywhere good. You want a good future, one where you can get back some of what you lost? Fight for it. Don’t just sit there and sulk. I took you for more of an action guy when I heard you charged into that HYDRA base to save a bunch of soldiers who’d already been labelled dead.” He pats his friend on the shoulder, “Think about it.” With a reassuring smile, Sam leaves Steve to swing the child into his arms earning a surprised squawk from the boy.

The sight makes Steve’s heart clench. He hates it when Sam’s right.

 

*

 

Despite Sam’s words to accept the past and move on, Steve continues to go to the exhibit at least three times a week. The difference is this time he’s not there to fuel his anger - he’s there to make sure every incorrect or over-done patriotic description is corrected. He carries a notebook - an A4 pad this time, the pocket-sized one was too small for this endeavour - to scribble down everything he disagrees with to take to Pepper to be changed. It’s while he’s redesigning a particular portrait of the Howling Commandos that depict his team as less than him even if only in size, that he notices it. He stands up so a tired father can take his seat and catches something small, bright and yellow in the periphery.  

He frowns, certain that there’s no bright yellow on that wall. It turns out to be a small note stuck right in front of a quote. ‘I don't want to kill anyone.’ on the opposite end of the wall where the quote stops, yet another note rests, this one bright orange: 'I don't care where they're from.’. Steve’s blood runs cold when he realises why they're there. They run on to the rest of the quote that the wall proudly boasts in large cursive writing: 'I don't like bullies.'. It’s clear it’s being used to insinuate a level of forgivable violence to push down the enemy when in reality that’s not what Steve believed at all. In fact, this very quote is in his own book to be taken down or completed as it should be. Just as the little sticky notes claim. Who would do this? Who would know those words? The Smithsonian had never displayed his journals before and now he had them back in his possession he sure as hell hadn't shown anyone.

Quickly he sweeps the room for any sign of who could have left the note but even before he’s finished he knows it’s futile. The room is so crowded he can barely see everyones heads never mind whats in their hands. He hasn’t felt so desperate to find another person since Bucky disappeared from his mirror for the last time.


	3. Friendships

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky makes a friend and Steve backs down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm complete trash and have decided that I would combine my lack of motivation to create a whole bunch of OCs and my deep love for the Young Avengers. Therefore I claim them as Bucky's friends :-) so yay, my two OTPs in one fic again (party time) so here you go! I absolutely adore comments so please feel free to drop one and if you leave your tumblr or email i will even gift you a scene from the next chapter a few days before its posted!

***  
A week flew by with without a peep from ghost eyes or scrawny blond kids in his mirror and naturally Bucky attributed this to his superior confrontational skills. However, had he been on the other side of the equation, he would have realised that the only reason Steve Rogers was absent from the bathroom was due to his prolonged stay in the hospital during a particularly bad bout of pneumonia. He went about his days being a model child for the Daniels, frequently getting up early to bring them coffee in bed, always staying behind to help Mrs Daniels with the dishes and aiding in Mr Daniels’ quest to rid their potential vegetable patch of weeds once he was home from school. 

Having been shifted from home to home, Bucky was used to facing new schools. Thankfully, even being a foster child, bullies seemed to have smaller fish to fry and left him to his own devices for the most part. After his time in the Boys Home, he’d picked up a few tricks when it came to fights so even had they decided to take a shot at him, they would walk away regretting the decision. That isn’t to say Bucky steered clear of conflict. On the contrary, despite his deep-rooted desire not to move families again, he found himself unable to remain on the sidelines when fights broke out. 

Bucky Barnes knew all too well what it felt like to be victimised by his peers and refused to stand by and watch it happen to others. It was this that drove him to interfere when a lanky black-haired boy was shoved to the ground one recess. still classified as the strange new kid, Bucky had yet to find his place in the school pecking order, as a result he spent the majority of his time outside class familiarising himself with the layout of the school, finding every nook and cranny that could be used to hide in or be alone. While making a beeline for the one section of the playground that he’d yet to fully map out, he noticed a group of boys hovering in a circle and jeering. Before he even recognised it, his trajectory switched right towards the boys, intent on interfering. 

“Whatcha scared of, Kaplan? Huh? Your baby girl hands gonna break? Huh? Come on, hit me, I dare you!” A chubby boy growled, fists up in a terrible attempt at a threat as he glared down into the circle. 

Bucky could make out a slumped form in the centre of the circle between the boys shuffling feet and sped up to grab the back of the bully’s collar and yank him back. He took one look at the bloody nose of the boy on the floor before round on the chubby child and connecting his fist with the sneering face. the group gasped in surprise, boys jumping back at the unexpected violence from anyone other than their ring leader, “Leave him alone.” Bucky hissed, shoving the bully back as hard as he could and taking pleasure in the way he stumbled back a few steps. 

With thick fingers cupping his face, the chubby child gaped at the small brunette boy before him - easily two years younger - then darted his gaze down to the boy on the floor and the teacher hastily making her way across the playground towards them, and decided it wasn’t worth it. “Whatever, foster kid.” he huffed, scrubbing at his hurt nose before turning on his heel and making a run for it. 

Hands shaking with fear, Bucky uncurled his fists, relieved that the bully hadn’t pushed the matter. Six against one wasn’t good odds. Taking a deep breath and rubbing at his hand, Bucky turned to the kid and found he’d already cleaned the blood from his nose on the sleeve of his blue sweater and stared up at Bucky in awe. “Hi.” Bucky held out the hand that wasn’t still wringing with tingles and pulled the boy up before the teacher reached them. 

“Uh - hi.” 

“I’m Bucky.”  
“Billy.” the kid squeaked, surprised when Bucky slung his arm over the taller boy’s shoulders and guided him away with a smile at the teacher to placate her. 

“Nice to meet you, Billy.”

***

Given the day’s exciting events, it came as no surprise when Mr Daniels found the boy half asleep on the couch shortly after getting home. With a tender chuckle, he shook his head and placed his briefcase by the stairs so that he could hoist the child into his arms. Instinctively, Bucky curled closer, fisting hands into the heavy material making up his clothes. He may have held the little boy tighter at that. 

Mrs Daniels glanced up from her book and smiled at her husband, “He made a friend today.” she whispered happily, barely managing to contain her emotions. 

“Good.” Mr Daniels rubbed Bucky’s back when he lifted his head to blearily peer around the room. “Hey, Kiddo. Bed time.” 

Bucky gave a sleepy nod and waved at Mrs Daniels as he was carried out. It only took a minute for him to be tucked away in his bed and wished a good night accompanied by an extra hug before he drifted off again. His sleep was disrupted once more, however, when the need to use the bathroom pushed through his dreams and forced him out of bed. When the cold water from the tap hit his fingers, the last dregs of sleep were pushed from his foggy mind and Bucky took in the purple framed eyes staring back at him.

“You got hit.” He blurted, frowning in commiseration; black eyes hurt. 

The boy in the mirror scowled unpleasantly, “Yeah.” 

“‘M’sorry.” Bucky offered, shutting off the tap and wiping his hands on his Power Rangers pyjamas. 

Surprised and clearly unsure how to take the apology for his pain, the blond shrugged. “It’s okay.” 

Neither was sure what to say after that and so they lapsed into silence, staring at each other until Bucky yawned, “I’m tired so I’m going to sleep now.” perhaps he imagined it but he could have sworn the tiny boy’s shoulders drooped at his words. he definitely cast his eyes down to the sink, frown returning. it compelled Bucky to offer up “but you can hang out in my mirror anytime if you want.” 

that made the mirror interloper’s head snap up and fire flare through his bruised eyes, “It’s my mirror.” he grumbled half-heartedly.

Bucky couldn’t help but grin, “Punk.”

“Jerk.” With a roll of his eyes, Steven Grant Rogers dropped a fight for the first time in all his seven years. In the coming years, Bucky would appreciate just how much it took Steve to not bite back that night. One thing he would never truly understand, though, was just how many times he saved the boy in the mirror with nothing more than his friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely adore comments so please feel free to drop one and if you leave your tumblr or email i will even gift you a scene from the next chapter a few days before its posted! 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr as AndUCallMeWeird.


	4. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve opens up to Sam and Bucky builds a fort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Guys. I honestly wasn't expecting such an onslaught of love for this fic! Thank you to everyone who's read so far and commented so wonderfully! I truly appreciate it, there's nothing better than hearing from you!
> 
> If you wanna chat, you can find me on tumblr as AndUCallMeWeird. I also post sneak peaks for anyone who hits me up over there so, yeah, come chat I'd love to hear from you! Comments are adored and definitely make me update!

***

Sam thinks he’s overreacting. Sam thinks he’s overreacting to the point of taking Steve out for pancakes after their usual morning run and pierces his friend with that ‘it’s okay, i’m here for you, man.’ look that he knows Steve struggles to resist. 

Steve’s touched by his concern, he really is, but there are things he’s not ready to tell Sam - or anyone for that matter. In an effort to stall, he sets his attention firmly on the chipped cup in his hands, picking at where the cheerful smiling sticker is starting to peel off. The coffee shop is hardly flashy and new, but the peeling formica and out-dated pleather booths make Steve feel at home in a way he can’t even achieve in his own apartment. 

It’s the comfort of their surroundings, as well as the half-finished stack of pancakes sitting on the table teamed with Sam’s expression that cracks through his resolve. He settles for blurting out his confusion about what he found at the exhibit. “I just don’t understand. Who would put it there?” 

Sam doesn’t roll his eyes like Tony would and instantly dismiss the situation as paranoia, instead he leans back in his seat and cocks his head to the side. “This has really been eating at you, huh?”

He can’t help but snort at the understatement. Yes, it’s just Sam’s way of things, he manages to simplify situations Steve gets headaches thinking about, but in this instance it feels like he’s not getting the whole picture. The problem is, for him to get the whole picture, Steve will have to speak about the boy in the mirror who warned him about everything and comforted him when he was sick and swore he’d never forgive Steve if he left. Steve’s shoulders sag with indecision, feeling the pressing weight of everything Bucky was to him. 

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose, rubbing his hands over his face as he takes a moment to organise his thoughts. This is Sam, not some SHIELD-employed psychiatrist who try so desperately to pick at his brain. He can trust this man. He _does_ trust this man. Mind made up, Steve sits up straight, “I was sick a lot, as a kid. Spent a lot of time hating life and wishing things were different.”

Sam doesn’t tell him to stop, despite having apparently switched topics suddenly. Instead, he gives a small nod, permission for Steve to continue before he can talk himself out of whatever he wants to get out in the open. 

So it all comes out, everything Steve can bear to tell him about the boy in the mirror, in that stained booth with lukewarm coffee at hand and an ever-present lump in his throat. Once he’s done they sit in silence for a long while, Steve nervously watching as emotions flit through Sam’s eyes, half-formed sentences aborted before the first syllable can leave his lips. 

“I know. I know it’s insane, Sam. I’d have a hard time believing it and i’ve seen some crazy stuff.” With a derisive snort, Steve returns to glaring at the cup, nose scrunching up in distaste at how the milk has congealed on top in a thick skin from being left too long. 

Eventually Sam just lets out a long sigh and leans forward, “How long have you been keeping that to yourself, Steve?”

It’s the last thing he expects to hear, eyes darting up in surprise. “Uh - I’ve - I’ve never told anyone?”

Sam looks angry all of a sudden, the intensity making Steve instantly duck his head in shame, “That’s a long fucking time to keep something that huge bottled up. Jesus, Steve.” 

He dares to glance up and finds that Sam’s not actually fuming at him, instead he glares out the window, scowling at every poor person that passes the window. “Someone should’ve been there for you, someone you could tell about all this.” he waves his hands emphatically, clearly furious with the world for not supporting Steve Rogers, the man, instead of just the icon.

It makes Steve smile, a small one but the longer Sam grumbles about the injustice of it, the more it grows. “I wasn’t alone, Sam. I had the commandos. Peggy.” Sadness tinges his tone, “Maybe…maybe if things had gone differently, I’d have told them.” 

He doesn’t push when Steve once more clams up, instead he pats his friend on the arm, “Thank you for trusting me with this.”

Steve clears his throat and gives a jerky nod, suddenly remembering just how many people are around and how close he is to crying in public. He pushes the coffee to the side and reaches for the pancakes again, shovelling a forkful into his mouth. 

***

It’s a normal occurrence when young children decide they want to build pillow forts all around the house.Fond childhood memories are found tucked under the dining room table or on the couch, mounds of blankets, pillows and cushions precariously balanced on top of one another with little bodies flitting in and out to collect more supplies. It wasn’t the building of a particularly impressive pillow fort that struck Mr Daniels as odd, on the contrary it brought a pleased smile to his face as Bucky dashed around the house collecting any plush surface he could get his hands on as well as a couple of dining room chairs; it was the location. When he’d finally managed to calm Bucky enough for him to let Mr Daniels carry the chairs up the stairs for him instead of moving them up one stair at a time, the last place he’d expected to be told to put them was in Bucky’s shower. 

He raised his eyebrows when Bucky gave him strict instructions to place them facing one another to work as the frame for his fort in the shower. Any attempts to try and get him to change his mind were swiftly thwarted and soon Mr Daniels gave in, settling for passing Bucky any materials he needed from the pile on the floor. Mrs Daniels found them in this position about two thirds of the way into the construction, grinning largely at the sight of the little boy’s eyebrows pulled together in determination. 

“Are you having fun?” she whispered, not wanting to distract Bucky while he clipped a ducky blanket in place. 

The child’s head shot up and a big smile replaced the determined scowl. “Yeah!” he enthused and proceeded to give her a tour of what he’d created, nodding in all the right places and cooing at his efforts which made his chest puff up and cheeks turn pink with pride. 

“Well that is a rather fantastic fort, honey! Why don’t we pack you a midnight feast, hm? No pillow fort is complete without a sweet stash.” She winked at the awe in Bucky’s face, offering her hand which he enthusiastically took. 

“‘Kay but not too much sweets.” Bucky said firmly, “Cause Steve can’t eat too many and I don’t want him to feel bad.” 

Mrs Daniels looked over at her husband for some context but he simply shrugged. “That’s very kind of you, Bucky.”

Bucky grinned at the praise, tugging Mrs Daniels out of the room. “Steve’s really cool. He likes drawing and he’s sick a lot so he draws all day. May I have cheese on my sandwich?” 

Mrs Daniels tried quite hard to keep up with Bucky’s fast-paced one-sided conversation, the topics changing from his friend Steve to what he’d done at school to what was on tv. it left her feeling slightly dizzy from how quickly he moved from one to the other but couldn’t help the warm feeling in her chest from how cheerily he spoke about everything. It didn’t matter if she couldn’t make heads or tails of what he was saying, as long as he spoke so enthusiastically, she’d listen for days. 

By the end of their raid on the kitchen, Mrs Daniels had accepted that he must be speaking about an imaginary friend from his descriptions of their interactions through the bathroom mirror. At least now she had a reason for the bathroom fort. 

With the fort completed and supplies tucked away inside, Mr and Mrs Daniels each kissed Bucky on the forehead and left him to his own devices with wishes of a fun time with Steve. 

It was at about five that Steve came into the bathroom with an armful of blankets and a pillow. Unlike Bucky’s elaborate construction, Steve’s was simple and quick to put up. at first he didn’t appear to notice Bucky grinning happily through the mirror, bouncing on his toes as he watched Steve pin up the blankets on the shower rail. When he turned once he was done, tub base covered in blankets in a nice little next, he gave a little squeak and nearly fell backwards into the tub, just managing to grab hold of the shower curtain and right himself. 

Bucky couldn’t bite back the laughter at the sight of Steve’s surprised face which earned a sour scowl from the blond boy. “Keep quiet.” he grumbled, sticking his tongue out even as his cheeks turned pink with embarrassment. “It’s your ugly mug.” 

With a pout Bucky flicked a piece of popcorn at the mirror, watching as it bounced back and landed in a small puddle of water by the sink quickly turning it into a soggy mush. “Hi, Steve.”

Unfortunately for Steve who was trying desperately to retain the grumpy expression he had trained on his friend, Bucky had an infectious smile. That darn grin melted through Steve’s defences in seconds and had him returning it before Bucky started pulling funny faces.

“Jerk.” Steve snorted when Bucky pressed his face against the mirror, squishing his nose.

“Punk.” Bucky mumbled against the glass, splaying his tongue out on the mirror.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've become My Chemical Romance trash (well, recently been reminded that I am, anyway) so you can thank Welcome to the Black Parade for Steve's perspective. Danger Days was on loop for Bucky's. I'm currently hardcore jamming to those albums and growing steadily more attached to the band members which doesn't bode well for my health since I spend enough time obsessing over Stucky and the young avengers as it is, nevermind adding the plethora of OTPs that accompany delving into MCR fandom. Pray for me. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> AndUCallMeWeird


	5. Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky makes a difficult choice and Steve realises something

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ THE NOTES FOR YOUR OWN SANITY 
> 
> Hey guys, so i’ve gotten a few comments expressing a little bit of confusion regarding the timeline. I don’t know if this chapter will only add to that or clear things up a bit. Just keep in mind that in each scene there are hints as to where they’ve happened in Bucky or Steve’s life in relation to other events. For example, everything prior to this chapter has either been with seven year old Bucky/Steve or Steve after the Avengers. I can’t give more detail than that I’m afraid since to do so would give away things i’m not ready to reveal yet but if any of you are struggling just drop me a comment and I will do my best to clear everything up. 
> 
> Also, please bear with me cause i’m still tweaking some things since shifting the Young Avengers into Bucky’s generation means that I have to veer off the MU path and that leads to a few tricky pieces but also means i can have some fun too ;-)
> 
> Maybe at the end of all this I’ll make a chronological copy but since I’m writing and directly uploading, i’m nowhere near done.
> 
> In regards to this chapter, there are a lot of jumps here but hopefully you’ll be able to follow along and pick up on the hints. Remember: everything in past tense has already happened years or at the very VERY least months ago in their respective times.

He told Teddy first. It seemed like the safer option and to be honest, Bucky wasn’t in the condition to withstand Billy’s tumultuous reaction, so he took the easy way out. His timing could have used some work but, really, he had to spit it out during one of those rare moments when Teddy and Billy weren’t attached at the hip. When Billy hopped up to go make more popcorn halfway through their weekly movie ritual, closely followed by Eli and Kate who argued about adding extra salt or vinegar, it left Bucky and Teddy with a rare moment alone. Bucky spared a moment to thank every higher being for America, Cassie and Noh-Varr’s absence before diving in head first.

“Hey, Teddy?” he cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, shooting a nervous glance towards the kitchen door where he could just make out the argument growing more heated. 

The blond grinned hugely only to drop it the moment he spotted Bucky’s nervousness. “What’s wrong, Buck?” he sat up from his position splayed out on the couch, shoulders tense and worry settling between his brows. 

It made Bucky sick to his stomach because he knew what he said was hardly going to remove that expression from his friend’s face. He just hoped Teddy could keep it under wraps until Bucky went home. Logically, it wasn’t the best time to do it but the days were sliding by and he was running out of time - and nerve. Steadying himself, he took a deep breath, met his friend’s eyes and said, “I enlisted.” he watched as a plethora of emotions flew across Teddy’s face - none of them good - before settling on a deep sadness that replaced the relief of finally telling someone on Bucky’s shoulders.

The heavy silence could have rivalled even Steve and Bucky’s when the two were being stubborn, only somehow this was worse because Bucky could still make out Eli and Kate snapping at each other, punctuated with Billy’s irritated interference. These were Bucky’s friends and he loved them. It killed him that he couldn’t tell them why he’d made such a drastic decision, but even now, months after he’d last seen Steve, he couldn’t bring himself to tell anyone about the boy in the mirror who broke his heart. 

Teddy took it relatively well, which is exactly what Bucky’d been gambling on. Instead of the angry shouting he’d have gotten from Kate, the anger and hurt from Billy, the colourful swearing from America, Teddy simply rested elbows on his knees, covering his face with his hands. “Shit, Bucky.” he whispered between fingers, unmoving.

Bucky shuffled closer along the couch, “Yeah.” 

It only took another minute or two for the others to come back in, but by that point, Bucky’d managed to convey his desire to keep this from the others for the rest of the evening and given in to the bear hug Teddy couldn’t hold back from. Wrapped up in Teddy’s arms, a part of Bucky regretted his decision, regretted just how very far he would be from his friends, but it was too late and he knew it was what he needed to do.

***

Billy’d always been a touch odd, it was something that became apparent quite quickly in their friendship but unlike the majority of the other kids, Bucky didn’t care. On the contrary, Bucky couldn’t help but appreciate the shining excitement in the other boy’s eyes whenever he spoke of the things he loved. He was witty, sarcastic and loyal to a fault. He was Bucky’s best friend. 

In light of this, it should come as no surprise that Bucky actively ensured that Billy’s oddness didn’t result in him becoming a target. On many an occasion he stepped in to make sure any and all bullies were fully aware of the lengths to which Bucky would go to protect his friend. It helped that he had a particular affinity for hitting anything he aimed at, not even needing to haul the latest bullies bodily off of his friend since there was always a surplus of small stones that he could use to persuade them to move on. Of course, more than a few altercations resulted in Bucky having to dive into the fray to dig Billy out of trouble but thanks to his time at the boys home, he was more than equipped to give as good as he got, if not more so. Before long, Bucky’d developed a reputation of fierce protectiveness over Billy Kaplan and while he couldn’t always ensure his friend was safe, and could hardly step in every time a vicious word was hissed in the corridors, he did reduce the number of bruises he was likely to sustain by more than half. 

With the grudging respect that came with continuously proving himself someone you didn’t want to mess with, there was also a healthy dose of simmering anger that never left the eyes of the kids he repeatedly bested. He managed to evade any form of confrontation with the bullies desperate to regain their pride by having another go at him, for the most part, but one sunny day, almost a decade after he first fought for Billy, Bucky finally ran out of luck. 

He knew he was in trouble the second he saw Kessler and his gang loitering at the edge of the park. Over the years Bucky’d carefully ignored their presence on his walk home and they’d returned the favour. Today was different. As soon as one of the goons caught sight of Bucky, there was a flurry of chatter amongst the boys followed by raucous laughter and the definitive change of trajectory right towards Bucky. His heart rate spiking, Bucky sped up his pace, hoping to dissuade them from following. that didn’t happen. Bucky’d barely managed to cross half the park before he was surrounded, Kessler jeering loudly as he threw an arm around Bucky’s neck to lock him in place all while grinning playfully to throw off any suspicious parents accompanying their kids. 

“Hey there, _Barnes_.” The tall oaf hissed, tightening his hold on Bucky’s neck as his crew steered him out of the park and into the closest alley, away from prying eyes. Once securely out of sight, Kessler gave a grunt of approval and shoved Bucky headfirst into the wall. 

Pain exploded through his head when his forehead made contact, the rough brick making quick work of scraping the skin from his cheek and nose. It left Bucky reeling, a sick feeling settling in the back of his throat. He was in so much shit. Kessler had clearly planned this little ambush, making sure he had twice as many cronies to back him up than usual - numbers that not even Bucky had any hope of beating. Six against one weren’t good odds. Fighting the urge to cradle his throbbing head, Bucky pushed off the wall and turned to face Kessler. He curled his hands into fists at his sides, more than aware that he was going to go down hard but unwilling to just sit there and take it. 

There was a malicious glint in the fucker’s eye when he grinned triumphantly at his victim, “Where’s your little fag friend, huh? Too much of a pussy to walk home?” The horde snorted with laughter in response, making a loose circle around Bucky while one kept an eye on the street lest they be interrupted. 

“The only pussy here is you, Kessler. I see you brought in reinforcements just to take on little ol’ me. What, you afraid I’d hand your ass to you again if you came at me like a man?” Taunting the brawny tormentor wasn’t Bucky’s finest idea, but he wasn’t about to stop defending Billy just because Kessler was going to get the best of him once. 

Kessler’s face turned a particularly alarming shade of purple when one of his crew barked out a laugh, and Bucky barely had enough time to dive out the way of the fist thrown at his face. It meant Bucky found himself stumbling back against the wall when a wav of nausea hit from moving so quickly and Kessler took the opportunity to quickly recover from the embarrassing miss and land one in Bucky’s gut. 

It only descended into madness from there, Kessler managing to get in a few more hits before Bucky pulled himself together and fought back with every dirty move he had. Which, naturally, resulted in Kessler calling in the reserves and Bucky was descended upon by bloodthirsty bodies. Fists, knees and feet blurred together as he was pushed to the ground, the group taking advantage of the vulnerable position to hit every available piece of him. 

Beyond the spit-fuelled insults they threw along with their blows, a distressed cry broke through and the attack on Bucky’s curled form tapered off to nothing. When the last goon stopped their attach he dared to lift his throbbing arms away from his head, They really hadn’t worked well to shield his head from the impact and his headache was now almost searing. 

Through blurred vision he could just make out three of the six guys as well as Kessler now having a go at an unknown man. Everything in him wanted to jump to his feet and help whoever had dared to try and stop Bucky’s beating but his head felt too heavy and everything throbbed painfully especially his lungs when he pulled in gasping breaths. His limbs refused to co-operate and so he was left unable to do much besides squint and hope the guy made it out alright. It couldn’t have been five minutes before yet another form was running into the alley, something bright and blue in their hands. The sharp light made Bucky wince as fire burned through his mind and he curled in on himself even more to shield his eyes from it. 

When the pain had dimmed enough, he found two figures kneeling at his side, one with his hands clasped around his centre over a worn Captain America hoodie. He knew that hoodie, well enough that it made him jerk in surprise. “Billy.” he croaked, sliding his eyes up to his friend’s face. “Hi.”

Billy stared in horror down at his best friend, “Oh god, Buck, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Bucky tried to wave off the comment but doing so took more energy than he had at that moment, “Not’r fault…”

Billy worried at his bottom lip, trying to bury the panic in his chest until they got Bucky medical attention. Unable to stop the terror crawling through his mind, he flicked his eyes over to the prone figure slumped against the dumpster making his heart drop. 

“Oh God. Oh god, I killed him. I killed him.” Billy rocked forward, wanting to curl into a ball and scream but he couldn’t - not with this stranger hovering over his best friend, trying to establish the best way to pick him up without causing more damage, not with Kessler comatose ten feet away. 

“Hey, hey, man, calm down, okay? Everything’s gonna be alright. We need to get him some help.” The blond stranger snapped his fingers in front of Billy’s face, drawing his attention up to determined blue eyes. “I can get him to a hospital faster than an ambulance, but you’ve gotta trust me. One’s on the way for the other guy.” there was a moment of panic that rose in those blue depths before it was tamped down. With a swift move he had Bucky in his arms and stood up. “What you did, to that kid?” He juts his chin in the direction of Kessler making a whole new fear roar up in Billy’s chest. 

What he’d just done, this guy had seen. He’d seen the blue lightning shoot from Billy’s hands right into Kessler’s chest. Oh god. Oh god! 

The blond paid no mind to Billy’s internal turmoil and simply looked up at the sky, “Just keep that in mind before you freak out over this, okay?” before the brunette had a moment to figure out what he was talking about, he sprouted massive green wings and took off with Bucky cradled close to his chest. 

***

Bucky was fourteen when he found out the boy in the mirror was destined to die as Captain America. It happened quite suddenly on a class trip to the Smithsonian WW2 exhibit - one that he’d seen countless times but never paid all that much attention to. He’d managed to slip away from the droning of his group’s guide and was contemplating making a run for it. Unfortunately that plan didn’t have much time to fully form before he found himself tucked behind one of the larger murals and confronted with the sickly, barely there smile of pre-serum Steve Rogers. 

It walloped him right in the chest, any ability to breathe evaporating the moment he laid eyes on that familiar stubborn face. Unlike the other pictures of the great Captain during the war, muscles bulging, or even the photographs from his enlistment, this one was clearly of a teenager. Cheeks sallow and angles sharp yet still retaining that baby-faced appearance that no one can shake during puberty, it was unmistakably the boy Bucky’d left in the mirror not four hours ago. He leaned heavily against the nearest wall, trying to steady his heart beat before he panicked in public. 

His eyes tripped over the myriad of photos around him, pulling every single familiar feature out of the face of the icon and his best friend. With shaking hands, Bucky turned to the younger photograph and winced when he realised that Steve had shown him this very picture not even five days ago. It was one of Steve once again in the hospital with his mother sitting up on the bed with him, her smile bright and loving as she gazed down at her son. He couldn’t stand to look at it any longer and stumbled away with the glaring evidence that not only was Steve Captain America, but the exact day he would drive himself into ice and give up his life. He wanted to run, cover his ears and never again hear the voice that boasted about Steve’s brave sacrifice as it filtered through the exhibit’s speakers. 

Bucky avoided the mirror for nearly a week following the incident, leaving his parents worried about how he’d so quickly withdrawn from everything. He warred with himself over telling Steve what he had found but knew any hopes at deterring Steve from running into his future would vanish the moment he made the other boy aware of the man he’d become. A constant argument between the two was how Steve saw himself, Bucky constantly trying to prove that Steve was more than his illnesses but the other boy would have none of it. No, telling Steve wasn’t an option, not if Bucky wanted even a small chance to dissuade his friend from ending his life prematurely. He would have to play this carefully. Armed with the knowledge of just what year Steve was currently living, Bucky knew he had eight years to give Steve a chance of a long life. The weight of his task settling on his shoulders, Bucky took a deep breath and squared his shoulder. He couldn’t fail Steve. He _wouldn’t_ fail Steve. 

***

Bucky was beautiful. Even during that awkward stage at sixteen when he was transitioning from gangly teen to something other, Steve couldn’t help but appreciate the angles of his face, the brightness of his eyes. Then there were the muscles filling out his shirt. He’d always been an active kid, something that he tried to downplay when with Steve because he didn’t want to remind Steve of everything he isn’t. But Steve still saw it, the soft tan that was most pronounced when his watch shifted on his wrist to reveal a pale strip beneath, the strength building under previously-baggy shirts, the small wounds constantly decorating his palms and knees. 

Given, the scrapes weren’t always from games; sometimes Bucky comes home with the tell-tale signs of a fight. Those nights, he grumbled about bullies and his friend Billy which simultaneously made Steve want to cheer and cringe at the same time. As happy as he was that Bucky wasn’t a shut-in like him, he couldn’t help the burn of jealousy when Bucky described his latest antics - Billy featuring prominently in them. Steve would be able to brush off the animosity he felt towards a boy he’d never met if it didn’t go beyond how often he popped up in Bucky’s stories. The crux of the matter was Steve wasn’t all that angry about not being able to go out with Bucky - he treasured the time they had, just the two of them - he was jealous of the possibilities open to Billy, or anyone that could actually touch Bucky. Possibilities that went beyond friendship. 

That terrified him the most, how Bucky made him _question_ himself and everything the world insisted was a sin. He felt alone in a way he’d never expected to feel since befriending the child in the mirror, worried about the consequences should he hint at what he was. His biggest fear was not that Bucky would avoid the mirror altogether should Steve come clean about his evolving feelings; it was that he _wouldn’t_. Instead, he would look in the mirror every morning and see those familiar blue eyes iced over with disgust, staring back and pointedly ignoring that any other reflection but Bucky’s own shone back.

It made Steve tuck his feelings deep in his chest, fight to make sure that Bucky would never suspect something as disgusting and unforgivable as that. He consoled himself with drawing numerous pictures of Bucky that he stashed under his bed before his mother could catch sight. what confused the chaos in his head even more about the whole situation was that it wasn’t just Bucky he found himself attracted too. Steve closed himself off from everything, barely giving himself the chance to even remember that he was attracted to women too - that was far too much for him to handle. He couldn’t be _both_ and since his feelings for Bucky were so strong, he concluded that it was just another thing wrong with him. He couldn’t just be a fag, he had to complicate even that. 

***

He was no stranger to waking up in foreign places. Given his vocation, it was no surprise that Bucky opened his eyes to an unfamiliar ceiling, surrounded by unfamiliar surroundings. It wasn’t this that made his heart skip a beat and panic rip through his body. No, it was the fact that he wasn’t just in any other room: he was in a hospital. The incessant beating of the heart monitor skyrocketed beside him as the sickening anti-septic stench of the room registered. 

As quickly as he found himself panicking, he managed to push it away, forcing himself to take stock of the situation. His eyes flicked over the room taking in the worn out chair tucked in the corner, the variety of monitors surrounding him, the drip to his right, the ancient television bolted to the far wall. The sound of cars drifted through the cracked open window to mingle with the soft droning of the news but other than that everything was peaceful. Twisting his head to read the concoction named on the bag, he slowly released the tension in his muscles when he was satisfied there was no imminent threat. 

Next, he pushed himself to remember what brought him here in the first place. From the writing on the bag and the television, he knew he’d been returned to the US. Which meant the mission had backfired horribly. Bucky’d spent the last year and a half in deep cover with barely any contact outside of the weapons dealers he’d been sent to infiltrate in the heart of Russia. To be returned home meant everything had gone up in flames. The last thing he recalled was lying perfectly hidden on a rooftop, lining up the shot that would bring him that much closer to those he’d been sent to find and kill. He never pulled the trigger. As slippery as the memories were, he knew for certain that he hadn’t sent off a shot but that’s where it went blank. Nothing existed in his memories after that other than blinding pain. Exhaustion crept up on him quickly while he tried to piece together everything and before he knew it, he was giving in to sleep once more.

When Bucky next woke, it was to the comforting sound of Steve’s voice. Something niggled at the back of his mind as he slowly regained consciousness but he couldn’t bring himself to care overmuch while still cocooned in the haze of sleep. “Steve.” he mumbled, turning his head towards where the voice was coming from. That was when he registered something wasn’t right. Steve’s voice was coming from his far left when the bathroom and the mirror it held was tucked into the right hand corner of his childhood home. 

Unease settled along his spine, dashing the last dregs of peace from his mind and making his eyes shoot open. Everything came back in a rush, the fact that there was no way Steve could be there with him because Steve was _dead_. Bucky was in hospital, it had been almost four years since he’d enlisted. Five since he put a fist through his bathroom mirror. And yet. There was no mistaking that voice, the one he’d grown up with, laughed at when it suddenly broke, ached to hear words he knew could never mean anything. Bucky shot up, ignoring the flare of pain that pulled up his left side and the tug of tubes in his arms. No. No, where was it coming from? The room was a blur that refused to clear as Bucky fought to pull the IV from his right arm but his left refused to co-operate. It ripped out when in his haze Bucky tumbled from the bed towards the voice, his chest tight and throat cracked and raw. 

“Steve.” He croaked, scrubbing at his eyes with his right hand in an effort to clear them. There was a long pause as Steve stopped speaking, followed by a barrage of camera’s clicking and the roar of reporters trying to speak over one another. finally, Bucky could make out more detail than vague fuzzy blurs and he quickly scanned the room only to come up empty. There was no one but him. Grief pooled in his gut and tears instantly welled before Steve’s voice came again and he snapped his head back so quickly his neck gave a twinge. There. There on the pixelated television, dressed in an alien yet familiar outfit, standing at a podium while reporters shoved desperately one another at the unmistakable press conference, was a face Bucky knew better than his own. 

Bucky’s mind refused to accept what he was staring at, namely the roll of news beneath the on-going conference that stated the date and the words ‘CAPTAIN AMERICA LIVE AT AVENGERS TOWER’. “”Wh-what.” He felt dizzy, distantly aware that blood was covering his arm from where he’d ripped out the IV and pooling on the floor. It couldn’t be real. It was an elaborate hoax, a superimposed image - but no; right there, standing on Steve's right Bucky found the face of Tony Stark who abruptly cut off Steve and pushed forward to insist that they’d had enough for the day, calling Steve ‘Cap’, clapping him on the shoulder before marching off the stage. It was too much, so many emotions fought for attention that Bucky couldn’t cope, slipping back into unconsciousness within seconds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly wasn't expecting to finish this chapter so quickly but I got the writing bug so hey i'm not going to complain. I hope you enjoyed and I adore to hear from you so please drop me a comment!
> 
> If you wanna chat or enjoy the barrage of Stucky that is my tumblr, you can find me as AndUCallMeWeird
> 
> lots of love!
> 
> AndUCallMeWeird


End file.
